


Wanting and Needing

by Corvidae_Corvus



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bar fights, PTSD, Post-War, Sadism, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-01
Updated: 2012-04-01
Packaged: 2017-11-04 06:31:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/390829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corvidae_Corvus/pseuds/Corvidae_Corvus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a backstory for my Sebastian, before he met Jim and saw what he wants in life to make himself happy and what he needs to make himself happy are two very different things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wanting and Needing

Sebastian Moran was sitting in the office chair of his therapist, straight up but comfortably enough, the middle of his back resting against the chair. His hands were clasped, right over left, with his arms propped on top of his thighs and he was casually looking to the only window in the office. It was how you usually thought of therapist’s offices: books on shelves, wood materials mostly, a rug on the floor, relatively comfortable chairs. Of course his therapist sat across from him, a few feet away, and his dark green eyes flicked back over to her when she started to speak.  
  
“You still have nightmares then?”  
  
“Yeah.” Sebastian said simply, eyes flicking down. His voice was soft, deep, a little gravelly from a smoking habit that had started when he went into the military. He knew what the next question would be; this was nothing new. “Random memories from when I fought. They’re always very clear. Sometimes ones where I’m shooting from the roof, other times when they got a little too close and I had to fight them off with a combat knife.”  
  
“Does it scare you?”  
  
Green eyes flicked back to the therapist as he honestly considered the question. Just from his voice and how he carried himself, you wouldn’t be able to tell he had PTSD. At least, from what he’d heard, most people couldn’t. Apparently it made him tougher to ‘crack’; his word, not the therapist’s. “I don’t think so.”  
  
“Then do you think they add to your stress?”  
  
Sebastian’s eyes went to the window again, studying the bright blue sky, overcast just slightly by small, fluffy white clouds, the sunlight breaking apart as it streamed through them. He couldn’t be entirely sure of that question. Simple answer was yes, but even when said in his head, he knew it wasn’t that simple. “I think they do.”  
  
—-  
  
“Say it one more fucking time!” Sebastian strained against the hands holding him back from his older brother, his dad’s arm locking his shoulder, his uncle’s across his chest, his cousin doing double duty by staying in between the brothers and keeping his weight on Seb’s other shoulder.  
  
Sebastian had a bruised cheek, whereas his older brother currently was kneeling on the grass, blood pouring from his nose, a black eye starting to develop and clearly unable to get a full breath in. His aunt, a nurse up in Cardiff, was checking him out, fingers pulling apart his eyelids to see if there was permanent eye damage, checking for punctured lungs.  
  
Sebastian’s coming home party wasn’t supposed to be like this. The family was supposed to get together, slap some things on the barbeque, have a couple of drinks and catch up on everything that happened while Seb was in Afghanistan. That wasn’t all that happened. His brother never liked the idea of him joining the military, so he had to make a comment here, now. Just had to, something about who he’d killed, how he had to be a trained killer now. Fuck, Seb didn’t know the exact words anymore, all he knew was that it felt damn good to shut his older brother up for a while.  
  
“Can’t say anything now, huh?!” Seb struggled against the three men that had to try hard to keep him back. His aunt snapped her head left, glaring at her nephew, screaming. “Seb, you need some fucking help, now get inside!”  
  
Sebastian struggled again to get at his brother before all three men worked together in pulling him inside the house.   
  
—-  
  
“Do you still have episodes?”  
  
Sebastian brought his attention back to the professionally dressed woman in front of him, hand reaching up to run a hand through his shaggier-than-normal short, dirty blonde hair. As he put it back down, his hand flexed once. He remembered the last time. He still wasn’t… entirely sure if he intended for that to happen. “No, not since Allison.”  
  
“That was when Melissa was out of the house, wasn’t it?”  
  
His daughter. Eight years old, she was probably most of the reason for the marriage. He had to admit, they were both going really fast for the relationship, Allison and himself. It’s what usually happened with military guys at least. He wouldn’t have Melissa thinking mommy and daddy’s poor relationship was any of her fault. “Yeah, it was.”  
  
—-  
  
“And when the Hell are you going to get a job you can actually keep, Seb,” Allison accosted him from the living room. Sebastian had his hands flat on the dining table, head hanging between his shoulders. He was trying to keep his temper this time, but it was everything he had to just close his eyes and start bottling it up.  
  
“Like I said Allison, I’m working on it.”  
  
Allison crossed the small distance they had between the living room and dining room, which was not a safe thing to do in Seb’s eyes. Their flat wasn’t very big, but it was all they could afford right now with the economy what it was. “You mean hardly working on it; your benefits barely cover Melissa’s clothes and school things!”  
  
Sebastian got a look of disgust on his face, eyes snapping open as he glared at Allison, his hands flexing on the table. “Yeah, and your job pays you big bucks scrubbing toilets and mopping floors. I’m the one who could be bringing in more money,” Seb retorted in a sarcastic tone before looking back down at the table with a forced sigh, eyes nearly boring holes in the table.   
  
Allison started to say something in that particular tone of hers, started to move toward him, hand out. It was almost like someone had cut scenes in a movie, because without even thinking about it, the back of his hand connected with Allison’s face and she fell back onto her bottom hard.   
  
Both of their faces had shock on it, pain also on Allison’s as she cupped her cheek, but Seb snapped out of it far faster. If this was how it might happen tonight, Sebastian needed to leave right. Now. He turned fast, hands up as if to say he didn’t want anything more to do with tonight. Behind him he could hear Allison start to scramble up and start yelling just as he snatched the keys to his old motorcycle off the key hook.  
  
He spared no time in jamming the key into the ignition and setting off as fast as possible down the street without spinning out, hearing Allison yelling from the door as he went past.  
  
—-  
  
“There was another time though, Sebastian. One more recent than that.”  
  
Sebastian let out a soft sigh through his nose, adjusting his posture, making it clear that he didn’t want to think about that. “That doesn’t count. I was provoked, even said it on the police report. Self defense. Not my fault they picked me to try and rough up.” Of course, that didn’t convince the therapist much, but Sebastian knew that would be the case.  
  
“You didn’t exacerbate it, Sebastian?”  
  
He shook his head.  
  
—-  
  
Sebastian’s fingers carefully rotated the glass of whiskey around in a circle, eyes staring at no particular spot on the counter. He couldn’t keep doing this; something had to give. He’d tried weaning himself off of his medication, taking half doses. Obviously, that was working great. He lifted a hand, rubbing it against his face as he sighed. Something had to give. He didn’t even know what those possible ‘somethings’ were, but he knew it had to happen.  
  
And then, that song. An American song, by something… Jones? He didn’t know, but he knew the words. Knew the tempo, beat, everything, because this was the fifth time someone had picked it on the jukebox. “Fucking pick something else already,” Sebastian yelled as he rubbed his temples.   
  
“Don’ like my music,” someone behind Seb, voice deep with a heavy slur, spoke behind him. He could practically hear the shit eating grin. No doubt he either thought he could overpower Seb by himself, or he had buddies. He slowly turned in the stool he was sitting in. Yep, he had buddies, each one looking just as plastered and slightly off to the side.  
  
“No, I don’t. You’ve played it five times now.” And that was Sebastian’s best attempt at being civil because, fuck, he did not need to get into more trouble after a day like today. The large man just chuckled at that, apparently not inclined to accept the fair observation.  
  
“Got a problem with it,” the man taunted as he leaned in a little more.  
  
It was almost as if it wasn’t Sebastian’s idea. Or, maybe it was, and it was just his instinct’s solution to the problem. He reclined a little in his chair, put on his own shit eating grin and waited. Oh yeah, he wanted this fight, but he needed to not be blamed for it. He could do it. He just wanted one thing from the other man. And it didn’t take long to get it.  
  
Not even a minute of just looking at the guy, listening to him get more irritated and hostile with the bartender starting to try and quell the situation. Then his fist sloppily connected with Seb’s cheek hard, like a careening mack truck. There was a brief explosion of pain as Sebastian’s head was knocked to the right.  
  
And he couldn’t believe the clarity he suddenly had. Everything was so simple, so straight forward, even his eyes seemed to have focused more than usual. Sebastian had a grin on his face when he looked back at the guy in front of him. He knew precisely what he was going to do, and it felt so /good/.  
  
Seb lashed out with a kick to the gut, using the momentum to slide off the stool and grab the seat of it. A swing up into the face of one of his buddies slammed one of the legs of the stool into his jaw, which changed smoothly into a shove of the same stool leg into the other’s nose. Yes, three in total, none of which should be a problem; they were sloppy fighters anyway.  
  
When all was done, there was no more stool, just pieces mostly on the floor; Sebastian had shoved one of the broken legs into the shoulder of the large guy. All three had broken bones and bruises where Seb just came out of it with the one bruise on his face.  
  
Of course he got out of it, he didn’t start the fight and of course they were as badly beaten as they were. Everyone knew that military guys knew how to fight, pity the guy who ran into one. And as Seb was giving his information and side of the story, he tried to think of something that pissed him off. He thought of Allison, but there was nothing more than a very faint rumble of anger somewhere far beneath the surface. Something he could easily handle.  
  
—-  
  
“What about your medication, Sebastian. Still taking your regular dosage?”   
  
“Yeah.” Sebastian simply said before he looked up at his therapist. It was obvious to him that she didn’t believe him. He sighed, exasperated, through his nose, “One capsule of Convulex every twelve hours. Only thing that keeps me going,” Sebastian said with a sigh, hand rubbing along his scruffy, barely-there beard. He was lying through his teeth really. He’d already stopped taking it.  
  
The therapist smiled, “I believe you Sebastian. I’m glad you’re keeping up on it.”  
  
—-  
  
Sebastian stood in his bathroom, one hand on the counter, the other rotating the prescription bottle in his hand. It was getting to the twenty four hour mark now, and he could feel the effects of the drug really start to fade away. He’d been taking less and less because, fuck knows, he hated feeling like he did when he took his medication. He was a robot going on automatic, mind dulled, like he’d miss something if he wasn’t careful.  
  
Seb couldn’t help but remember what he was told just a day or two ago. Scrawny guy, shorter than the military man, ran right into him when he was trying to get home, coffee in hand. Took everything he had not to lash out at the guy, and that was even before he’d started talking.  
  
He started to pick out everything about Sebastian. Like he was reading a book: military, anger issues, therapist, PTSD, medication, issues with his wife. And more. _’No. You don’t want a normal life.’_  
  
Seb’s eyes flicked to his own reflection in the mirror before he set the bottle down with a sigh, looking hard at it like it could give him some kind of answer. Then he did something he’d only done accidentally before, he closed his eyes and thought back to the war. Any point in time would work and his mind went to one particular time.   
  
The sun was beating down on everyone, but it was particularly harsh on the roof he was laying on. They were on top of the terrorists this time, a planned strike, and when the bullets started to fly, Sebastian was one of the ones to take them out. He was always damn good at what he did, and it didn’t disturb him to take down the insurgents as they tried to run by. One bullet in the head, another, a third.   
  
It was so… satisfying to do. It was a job well done, a clean one, but the way he felt about it went beyond just satisfying. He couldn’t quite pin it though. It was deep.  
  
Sebastian opened his eyes again, his reflection in the window popping back into view. His eyes flicked to the medication again, but his hand unconsciously drifted to his pocket. There was a business card in there, ‘James Moriarty, Consulting Criminal’, given to him when the man said Sebastian would work for him. As if it was a given thing.  
  
 _’A consulting criminal isn’t a real thing.’_  
  
 _’No, it’s not, but you don’t want real life, am I right?’_  
  
That was another thing he said, that he wanted to go back. Go back to the war, leave this place that had nothing for him. In a way, he wanted Mr. Moriarty to be wrong. Sebastian put his hand back on the counter. There had to be something for him in ‘real life’. He could think of one thing, one thing that was supposed to be the most important thing in his life. Melissa, his daughter. He thought about her school, how proud she made him, how she seemed to have gotten the best traits between Allison and himself. It made him smile, even made him feel what some people would call ‘warm fuzzies’.  
  
Then he thought back to the sun baked rooftop and he shivered. That memory reached some part of him that thoughts of Melissa didn’t. He felt more… complete doing what he did on the rooftop. And he’d started to realize it wasn’t just the rooftop. The waiting, the listening, expecting something to happen in the night, meticulously cleaning his gear, thinking it might be his last night.  
  
He wanted it all back.  
  
Sebastian stood there for another five minutes, doing nothing, wrestling with the thoughts that swam around in his head. Then he grabbed the bottle and took out a pill.  
  
—-  
  
“That’s the end of our session today, Sebastian. I think you’re progressing nicely, what do you think?”  
  
Sebastian sighed, clasping his hands again, leaning back and looking out the window. He considered it, seriously considered it. “…I don’t think this is working.” He spotted a couple of birds flying by the window, probably landing on a tree he’d seen near the entrance of the office building.  
  
“Why not, Sebastian,” the therapist asked with concern on her face. Seb however was standing up, going to his coat that was hanging on the rack.  
  
“Well, it’s why I come here, isn’t it? Eventually it will work,” Seb said as he flashed a smile over his shoulder. He shrugged on his long coat, then tied a black scarf around his neck, knowing that the sunny day was actually going to be a cold one once he’d walked outside. “Thanks for the session Dr. Thompson.”  
  
“Of course,” she said cautiously before giving a smile, “And don’t give up Sebastian. Things will start looking up.” Seb just looked to her and nodded, raising a hand in farewell and heading out the door.   
  
Seb walked down the street, making sure to get out of range of the building when he pulled out his mobile and the business card. James Moriarty, Consulting Criminal. He dialed the number written on the back of it, then held it up to his ear. He didn’t want a normal life anymore. He couldn’t stand it, he wanted to go back to the way things were, he didn’t want to feel dead anymore. He didn’t understand why exactly, but he did know Mr. Moriarty’s words had been ringing in his head for the last few days.  
  
“What,” a very flat, unamused voice came over the mobile.  
  
“Mr. Moriarty, this is Sebastian. Sebastian Moran,” he said as he slid the card back into his pocket, fingers knocking against his pill bottle that was in there too.  
  
“Who?”  
  
Sebastian took it out and looked it over, trying to get out the nickname Moriarty had given him when they had bumped into each other, “…Sebby?”  
  
“Sebby dear!” A complete one-eighty from how Moriarty’s voice sounded a minute ago, now it was excited and happy. Oh no, no normal life with this guy. Sebastian chucked the pills into the nearest bin, glad he could stop flushing them one by one down the toilet at home. He didn’t think he’d even be going back home now.  
  
“I’d like to take you up on that job offer, Mr. Moriarty.”  
  
-One month later-  
  
Sebastian was lounging in a chair that wasn’t his, in a hotel room that wasn’t his in near complete darkness. There was a bit of light streaming in from the few lights outside, but Seb had chosen a nice dark corner to just relax in before his target got home. He heard the door open and he didn’t move right away.   
  
For one reason or another, the man who walked through the door needed to die. Really, it didn’t matter who this person was. Jim just wanted him dead, and as his first official piece of work since coming under his employ, he wanted to do a good job.   
  
The walls were paper thin, just like most hotels, so Jim didn’t want a bullet involved that might go through a wall and attract attention. That was fine by Seb, more than fine he realized when he quietly stood up. The man had set down some things, groceries by the look of it, and was looking to the lamp as his hand fumbled for the switch, unsure to turn it or push it or what. It gave Seb more than enough time to slide behind him. And after that, it was too easy.  
  
Sebastian’s hand clamped over the man’s mouth, holding on tight as the man tried to scream and just started to struggle. He didn’t get far with it, because the next moment, Seb’s knife was gliding through his neck, reducing the attempted screams to choking and gurgling. Blood sprayed onto the desk and a bit onto the wall, and Sebastian held him against his body for a few more seconds before letting him fall to the ground to convulse his last little bit of life away.  
  
Sebastian looked down at him, taking a deep, relaxing sigh. He felt accomplished, satisfied, blissfully alive and alert as he rubbed the bloody fingers of his glove together. Then, he laughed. Softly at first, but then a little louder, as if he’d heard the best joke in the world or realized a very large problem was in fact tiny.   
  
“I’m so fucking happy,” Sebastian said to himself through his laughing, trying to keep it down so as not to disturb the neighbors. He had to prop his elbows on the desk, letting his head hang as his shoulders shook. “Fuck, I’m so crazy,” he said suddenly, the realization only making it very hard to keep from laughing too loud.   
  
There were three short vibrations from his pocket, a text message, and one he knew he should look at. Sebastian tried breathing in and out to stop laughing, pulling off his glove with one hand to briefly wipe his eyes with his thumb and then pull his mobile out of his pocket.  
  
I’m glad you’re enjoying this, but you should leave. - JM  
  
Seb took a final breath to calm himself down, still grinning wide as he went to the bathroom to grab a hand towel, texting back with one hand.  
  
Yes, boss. - SM  
  
He slid the mobile back into his pocket, put the gloves back on and wiped away the blood on the before pocketing it and turning the knob of the front door.

**Author's Note:**

> Partially inspired by my RP with tolightamatch. Beta’ed by kaijyuu.


End file.
